Where the Demons Hide
by Koriat Cyredanthem
Summary: Thel notices something odd about his friend the Demon. This idea popped into my head after listening to Imagine Dragons' song "Demons."


Thel 'Vadam stood at the window, staring down through the thick glass towards the small blue-and-green planet below.

_For this, they died? To destroy this, _we_ died?_

He watched as the white clouds below danced across the continents and oceans. It looked pristine from up here, but the Arbiter knew that nearly every inch of habitable space had been – destroyed. Overcome. "Civilized," the humans would say.

Thel bared his fangs at the planet unconsciously. He was alone in the room and allowed himself the freedom of the sneer. The planet was one of the last humanity held. It would be simple to destroy it.

But he would not. Humans, he had discovered, were far more creative and inventive than anything Thel 'Vadam had yet seen in his long life. Certain individuals among them rivaled the intelligence of Huragok, the ferocity of Jiralhanae, the numbers of Unggoy, the strength of the Mgalekgolo, the stealth of the Kig-Yar, the pride and control of the San Shyuum… And, the Arbiter admitted, the honor of the Sangheili. If he tried to destroy their last planet, he might not actually win – humans fought hardest when cornered, like any animal.

_So the blue planet spins, and the Reclaimers survive. _

Despite knowing the truth of the Holy Rings, knowing of the Flood and its ancient origins, how humans had once nearly bested the Forerunners, Thel could not bring himself to revere the pink fleshy creatures. Perhaps in another millennia of evolution they would grow strong and develop proper proportions.

The door behind the Sangheili hissed open and Thel caught the intruder's reflection in the window.

_Well, most will require a millennia,_ Thel amended himself. _This one… Is there already. _

He turned to greet the Spartan, nodding his head slightly in the Bow of Equal to Equal. It still surprised him to see the man out of his armor; he looked smaller, though certainly not _small_, and vulnerable.

John-117 was one of the reasons Thel 'Vadam had agreed to attempt finding peace between their species. The Spartan had saved his life during the Dark Times. Since then, the Demon had defeated the Didact, exposed the Shield World at Requiem, and become a Commander in the human ranks.

However, Thel knew the man who nodded in return was a different human from the one he'd trusted to fight beside so many years ago. He walked over to the window silently, the only sound of his progress the slight scuff of his shoes on the metal floor. His footsteps didn't click, or clang, anymore – it bothered Thel more than it should.

Once at the window, the Spartan folded his hands neatly behind his back, his thumb in the center of his palm. The position was called "at ease," from what Thel had been able to discern.

The Spartan was half a meter taller than many humans but his head only reached Thel's shoulder. Instead of looking at the Sangheili, though, or speaking about what had brought him to the Arbiter's private chambers, the Spartan simply gazed at the planet rotating slowly in front of the pair.

Thel was content to be silent for a moment. Silence, after all, was not particularly abundant in these trying times.

The Arbiter could feel the heat radiating from his ally's skin. Spartans, the Demon had once explained when another Sangheili had asked, had a higher internal temperature than the average human. It was not a well-known fact since Spartans rarely left their armor.

The Demon seemed absorbed by the view, his eyes focused as he tracked up and down the planet, occasionally following a storm system for a moment before finding something else to look at.

"Perhaps you would share tea."

Of all the ceremonial drinks humans imbibed, tea had become Thel's favorite by far. The subtleness of herbal extracts, especially, fascinated the Arbiter. The dark liquid called "coffee" was absolutely revolting, both for its smell and how it imparted fake energy unto the drinker. Even worse were the super-concentrated energy drinks and "stim pills" that soldiers took daily in combat. The various fruit juices were too sweet – or, in the case of lemonade, too sour – for Thel to enjoy, and drinking the milk of a cow seemed downright disgusting. One imbibed milk when one was an infant, not as an adult.

Without waiting for the Demon to answer, Thel turned around and made his way over the small kitchen. He set the water to boiling in a kettle and arranged two mugs – one, built for human proportions, the other, for Sangheili hands and mandibles to drink from without spilling.

The pair were utterly silent as the Arbiter poured the hot water over two bags of dried leaves and herbs. He took both back to the window; the Spartan accepted his with a silent tilt of his head, expressing his thanks.

Thel allowed his drink to cool a moment before sipping, nodding to himself in pleasure. His newest blend of tea leaves – all warriors must take up gentle habits when not in combat roles, and mixing teas had become a favored pastime that calmed the Arbiter after a particularly trying session in the Treaty Chamber – was close to becoming name worthy.

The Spartan drank as well, his Adam's apple – Thel had not yet heard a satisfactory reason for its existence – bobbing as he swallowed. The man observed the tea for a moment, bouncing the tea bag in the hot water.

"We failed again."

The Demon's voice was husky and deep, utterly without emotion. Thel immediately knew why his ally had sought the Arbiter out – there was no one else who could understand, and Thel himself didn't, not fully.

After losing Cortana, the Demon had, for a while, been sequestered with a team of psychologists. So far as Thel understood, Cortana and John-117 had nearly become one person, at least in the Demon's mind. Without her input, the Spartan had been "unfit for duty" – which meant, for all practical purposes, that he was useless.

Too well-disciplined to destroy himself in mourning, too rigid to accept his own weakness, too alone to confide in anyone, the Demon had been in a very bad situation. No one had realized just how strong the bond between AI and Spartan would become.

It had taken the arrival of three previously-KIA Spartans, Kelly-087, Linda-058, and Fred-104, to penetrate into the despair, self-loathing, anger, hatred, and other emotions consuming the Spartan Chief. With his siblings' help, John-117 had finally been admitted back into the ranks of the UNSC, though watched carefully.

And with the arrival of the three Spartan siblings had come Dr. Halsey, who, upon hearing of the death of her "daughter," immediately set herself to recreating Cortana.

The Demon had, at first, refused to believe it could be done. At one point, Thel remembered, the Spartan had flatly rejected the idea of working with any other AI, Cortana-model or not. But as the trials progressed and the doctor came closer to replicating the highly illegal process that had originally spawned Cortana, the Chief had started to hope – and now he was just as utterly devoted to the idea of "recreating" a Cortana as he had been opposed, months ago.

As for why the Demon had sought out the Arbiter, Thel knew the other Spartans were completely convinced that their Chief's attachment to his AI had been and continued to be unhealthy. They encouraged him to forget about replicating the process, tried to keep him occupied with other missions.

But the sad truth was that, other than occasionally acting as a bodyguard, there simply weren't many jobs for the super-soldiers to do that would consume their attention. They trained together and taught the Spartan IVs. Occasionally, they were sent on short missions to clear out a Kig Yar pirate lane or to the surface of the blue planet to do things there.

Thel knew that his ally did not want reassurance or pity. But the Arbiter didn't know exactly what it was the Demon did want – did the Spartan know himself?

"Will you try again?" he asked instead.

The Spartan didn't reply for a moment, staring at the blue planet. Then he shook his head. "I don't know. Dr. Halsey is…" The man shifted. He regarded the doctor, despite everything she had done to him and his siblings, as a mother figure. "She is dying."

Thel clicked his mandibles gently. The doctor was both revered and hated for her work with the Spartans by the general public, and hated by her superiors for her arrogant attitude, and loved – in their strange way – by her children, the Spartan IIs.

"When?"

"Years, if she retires now. Months if she does not." There was tight pain behind the Chief's voice. Dr. Halsey was likely the only one alive who could possibly recreate Cortana, but the Spartan was unwilling to trade his mother for his other half.

"You do not wish to choose between Cortana and Dr. Halsey," Thel observed.

"Yes," the Chief answered simply. "But whoever we create… He or she will not be Cortana. So I would be trading Dr. Halsey for a copy of Cortana."

For the first time, Thel turned his head slightly and found the Chief looking at him. His black-rimmed eyes were so different from other humans' eyes that they set him apart even without his enhanced height, speed, and strength. But they were still eyes, and Thel found himself looking deep into them. They were a pleasant blue color, darkened by years of war and battle and dimmed most recently by the loss of Cortana. Those eyes had seen horrors that most could only guess at, but they'd also beheld wonders – the Forerunner shield world, the Didact's massive ship, the Librarian's remaining essence herself.

But there was one thing that set the Chief apart from every other living creature, human, Sangheili, or otherwise.

The Chief had been touched by the Forerunners.

According to his own explanations, what remained of the Librarian had done something to his genetic structure to change him so that he could not be compiled. It had saved his life at one point. But it set him further apart. No one could exactly catalog what had been done to him; the human geneticists hadn't been able to determine exactly what changes had been responsible for the change, because there were a slew of them. According to them, the Chief would outlive every person of his generation, thanks to his enhanced healing abilities which were, even now, working to remove the various scars littering his body.

Something shifted behind those blue eyes and Thel turned back to the window, taking another sip of the hot tea. Humans had a saying – "the eyes are the window to the soul."

But the Chief's eyes… That was where his demons hid. Few people could read the Spartan well, but Thel had learned, and those demons were struggling to break free. Only iron will and discipline kept them at bay, but for how long? And when those demons broke free – and Thel realized in that moment that it was a "when," not an "if" – what would they leave behind?

Just then, Thel realized that the Chief was in a very real danger – from himself. He let no one close. Thel could read the Spartan because the man let him – the Arbiter knew it even if they never spoke of it – but the companionship the pair had shared mirrored the bond of brotherhood. It was close, but the Chief needed someone who could understand his human side – he did have one, despite certain people's claims to the contrary.

"Why have you not found a mate?" Thel asked. He knew the question was rude by human standards – but the Chief simply blinked at the change of topic.

"And you call yourself a diplomat," the Spartan snorted. "Thel, honestly, I don't have time – or inclination – to find a "mate" – we call them partners, by the way."

The Arbiter raised an eyeridge, a motion he'd picked up from humans and found amusing. It conveyed his disbelief in the Spartan's reasoning without having to say a word.

"Really," the Chief argued, shifting again – this time to both feet, at though he was getting ready to move. So this line of questioning made him nervous, or unhappy – Thel stored the knowledge. "Our society isn't like yours, Thel. Sure, I'm the Demon – the biggest badass still alive in many people's minds. But I'm built for war. I'm a machine of war. There's no way around that. And that scares a lot of people. All of them, in fact, even if they also see me as someone or something else."

"What about Kelly, or Linda? They are not blood relations."

"But they are my sisters."

"You have good genetics – in our culture, it would be your duty to pass them on."

The Chief nodded, a faint smile ghosting through his face for a brief moment. "It isn't, in ours." He sounded glad.

"How does your species survive if the strongest do not breed?" Thel asked, almost to himself.

The Chief glanced at him. "Thel, I was trained from a child. If I wasn't a Spartan, I'd've still been big, and I probably would have had kids. Plenty of soldiers have kids – _after_ they retire."

"And you will never retire."

The Chief shook his head vehemently. "Never," he agreed.

"What about a confidant?"

"I have you."

"And I am Sangheili, my friend, though I appreciate that you seem to forget it sometimes."

"And my siblings."

"Who do not understand the bond between you and your ancilla."

"Cortana… Was unique. There is no one in the UNSC – or elsewhere – that worked so closely for so long with any AI, dumb or smart."

That did surprise Thel – he had thought the other Spartans, at least, would have been given AIs. The Chief caught the confusion and shook his head slightly. "It was a test," he said quietly. "We passed with flying colors. My… efficiency… rose. Our intel grew by leaps and bounds. Cortana and I could deploy into Covenant territory and expect to get out reasonably intact. Others couldn't."

"Dr. Halsey?"

"We've talked. She lost Cortana, too. But she didn't…"

"Love her?"

The Chief glanced at the Arbiter. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but the Sangheili knew the Chief agreed – the Demon had loved his ancilla with a fierceness fit for a legend.

"A psychologist, then?"

The Chief frowned. He disliked psychologists – and Thel couldn't blame him, after hearing all of the speculation coming from public-speaking psychologists as to the origins of the Spartan IIs and their probable suicide now that the war was over.

"The wounds aren't mental, Thel."

"Nor physical," the Arbiter agreed. "A spiritual healer, then, might have better luck. I do not know of emotional healers, if you have any."

"Of a sort. But… The nature of our relationship is not something most are trained to understand or even council for."

"Cortana may have lived inside your head, but she was still a fellow soldier – one you worked intimately with for years. Perhaps a psychologist would use the same techniques as when counseling the bereft partner or parent."

"I think you're taking the analogy a little too far."

"Sibling, then."

The Chief nodded and was about to speak again when Thel's intercom buzzed. Both looked upwards automatically, though it was loud enough to hear even if they tried to talk over it.

"Thel, have you seen John?" Kelly's voice floated through the speakers.

Thel looked inquiringly at the Chief; he grimaced, but nodded permission for the Arbiter to "rat him out."

"He's here with me."

"Oh, good. John, we've got a situation." There was nothing bad in her voice, so the Chief couldn't bring himself to wonder if this was just another ploy by his sister to get him in the gym with her.

"Duty calls." John nodded to the Arbiter. "Thank you for talking with me, Thel."

"Anytime, my friend. Be well."

"You, too." The Chief left.

Thel looked down at the planet for a moment. Surely _somewhere_ down there, _someone_ had lost a person so dear to them it was like losing their other half. Perhaps the Demon simply didn't believe anyone else could have that sort of connection with another creature – human, AI, or otherwise. Or perhaps he was right, and there simply was nothing to compare to the bond between the infamous Spartan II and Cortana.

It was not a problem the Arbiter – either in his capacity as Arbiter or as the Demon's friend – could solve. But he would alert Dr. Halsey – and perhaps Linda, though certainly not fire-tempered Kelly – to his observations. Perhaps they would know how to proceed.

_Things were simpler when we were fighting_, Thel sighed to himself, cleaning up the pair of mugs. The Spartan hadn't finished his; there was cold tea still in the cup, which Thel drained into the sink.

_Much simpler_. _But this… This is better._


End file.
